In the beginning there was the word. Strange, isn't it? Some call it the word of God, but no, nothing happenned until we recorded it. We don't know who invented the wheel because no one was around to write it down. There are no tales of the early men who bludgeoned bison, bird and fellow man alike, so one can only assume that this has happenned.
Science can tell us of the bones that were found, splintered by a rock so we can imagine that our ancestors were ruthless. But the beginning began with the word and we dismiss as perpetual fantasy anything that's at least not carved into a tablet.
Very few of us know that life existed before the word.
"Bless me father, for I have lived"
"My son, I cannot take your confession"
"You will take my confession, father, for you and I both have taken our vows and neither one of us wants to be damned. I need forgiveness"
There is silence on the other side of the oak wall. Through the thin piece of canvas I can hear the man's breathing quicken. Muttering under his breath, I know it's a silent prayer but I interrupt it.
"She fought back for nearly ten minutes, Father"
"My hands choked her but she continued breathing. Of course I brought a knife, as I always do. I dragged her through the parking lot and against the back wall, the community hall where the Knights of Columbus..."
"Please", said Monsignor Friscelli. His voice was shaking, and his head, silhouetted through the screen drooped down, before his hand covered the screen between us.
"I told her that she too must confess, and she struggled so, in our name, Father, I struck the knife deep within her womb and up into her rib cage. She bled for a long time. I had to cover her mouth. you should have heard the language"
"What was her crime?", bleated the elderly pastor.
"Her crime?", I hissed, "It is up to Yaweh to judge!"
"And you left her in the parking lot to die?", inquired the Monsignor, his frail voice marked with a sad resignation.
"No, monsignor", I announced, "In this very cathedral, now, she lies behind the altar"